The abrupt rustle of a newspaper preceded Brisbane's deep utterance.
"Not at all--just reading the _Star_. Come in, Captain. Is lunch nearly
ready?" he asked of Elsie.
"I think so. They are a little late. I'll go see."
As she left the room Brisbane cordially rumbled on. "Sit down, Captain.
I'm sorry I missed your talk to-day. I am curious to know what your
notion is about the Tetongs. Of course, I understood you couldn't go
into the case the other night, but, now that your testimony is all in, I
hope you feel free to give me your reasons for opposing our plan for a
removal of the tribe."
Curtis took a seat, while Brisbane stretched himself out in a big chair
and fixed his cold, gray-blue eyes on the soldier, who hesitated a
moment before replying, "I don't think it wise to go into that matter,
Senator."
"Why not?"
"Well, we differ so radically on the bill, and your interests make it
exceedingly difficult for you to be just in the case. Nothing would be
gained by argument."
"You think you know what my interests are?" There was a veiled sarcasm
in the great man's smile.
"I think I do. As a candidate for re-election to the Senate you can't
afford to antagonize the cattle and mining interests of your State, and,
as I am now officially the representative of the Tetongs, I sincerely
hope you will not insist on a discussion of the motives involved." The
young officer spoke firmly, but with impressive dignity and candor.
Brisbane's ambiguous manner took a sudden shift to cordiality, and,
leaning forward, he said:
"Curtis, I like you. I admire your frankness. Let me be equally plain.
You're too able a man to be shelved out there on a bleak reservation.
What was your idea of going into the Indian service, anyway?"
The young officer remained on guard despite this genial glow. "I
considered it my duty," he replied. "Besides, I was rusting out in
garrison, and--but there is no need to go into my motives. I am agent,
and shall stand firmly for the right of my wards so long as I am in
position to do so."
"But you're wasting your life. Suppose you were offered a chance to go
to--well, say West Point, as an instructor on a good salary?"
"I would decline the appointment."
"Why?"
"Because at this time I am needed where I am, and I have started on a
plan of action which I have a pride in finishing."
Brisbane grew distinctively less urbane. "You are bent on fighting me,
are you?"
"What do you mean?" asked Curtis, though he knew.
"You are dead set against the removal of the Tetongs?"
"Most certainly I am!"
Elsie re-entered the room during this rapid interchange of phrase, but
neither of the men heard her, so intent were they upon each other.
"Young man, do you know who you are fighting?" asked Brisbane, bristling
like a bear and showing his teeth a little. Curtis being silent, he
went on: "You're lined up against the whole State! Not only the
cattlemen round about the reservation, but a majority of the citizens
are determined to be rid of those vagabonds. Anybody that knows anything
about 'em knows they're a public nuisance. Why should they be allowed to
camp on land which they can't use--graze their mangy ponies on lands
rich in minerals--"
"Because they are human beings."
"Human beings!" sneered Brisbane. "They are nothing but a greasy lot of
vermin--worthless from every point of view. Their rights can't stand in
the way of civilization."
"It is not a question of whether they are clean or dirty, it is a
question of justice," Curtis replied, hotly. "They came into the world
like the rest of us, without any choice in the matter, and so far as I
can see have the same rights to the earth--at least, so much of it as
they need to sustain life. The fact that they make a different use of
the soil than you would do isn't a sufficient reason for starving and
robbing them."
"The quicker they die the better," replied Brisbane, flushing with
sudden anger. "The only good Injun is a dead Injun."
At this familiar phrase Curtis took fire. "Yes, I expected that accursed
sentence. Let me tell you, Mr. Brisbane, I never knew a redman savage
enough to utter such a sentiment as that. The most ferocious utterance
of Geronimo never touched the tigerish malignity of that saying. Sitting
Bull was willing to live and let live. If your view represents
civilization, I want none of it. The world of the savage is less cruel,
less selfish."
Brisbane's face writhed white, and a snarling curse choked his utterance
for a moment. "If you weren't my guest," he said, reaching a clutching
hand towards Curtis, "I'd cut your throat."
Elsie, waiting in strained expectancy, cried out: "Father! What are you
saying? Are you crazy?"
Curtis hastily rose, very white and very quiet. "I will take care not to
put myself in your way as guest again, sir."
"You can't leave too quick!" roared the old man, his face twitching with
uncontrollable wrath. "You are a traitor to your race! You'd sacrifice
the settlers to the interests of a greasy red vagabond!"
"Father, be quiet! You are making a scene," called Elsie, and added,
sadly: "Don't go, Captain Curtis; I shall be deeply mortified if you do.
Father will be sorry for this."
Brisbane also rose, shaking with a weakness pitiful to see. "Well, sir,
you can go, for I know now the kind of sneak you are. Let me tell you
this, young man: you'll feel my hand before you are a year older. You
can't come into my house and insult me in the presence of my daughter.
Get out!" His hands were moving uncontrollably, and Elsie discovered
with a curious pang that she was pitying him and admiring the stern
young soldier who stood quietly waiting for an opportunity to speak. At
last he said:
"Miss Brisbane, I beg your pardon; I should not have said what I did."
He turned to Brisbane. "I am sorry I spoke so harshly, sir. You are an
older man than I, and--"
"Never mind my age," replied Brisbane, his heat beginning to cool into
self-contained malice. "I desire no terms of friendship with you. It's
war now--to the knife, and the knife to the hilt. You think you are safe
from me, but the man that lines up against me generally regrets it to
the day of his death."
"Very well, sir, I am not one to waste words. I shall do my duty to the
Tetongs regardless of you or your friends." He turned to Elsie. "Miss
Brisbane, I ask you to remember that I honestly tried to avoid a
controversy."
Six months before Elsie would have remained passive while her father
ordered Curtis from the door, but now she could not even attempt to
justify his anger, and the tears glistened on her lashes as she said:
"Father, why can't you accept Captain Curtis's hand? These ragamuffin
redmen aren't worth quarrelling about. No one ever went away from us
like this, and it breaks my heart to have it so. Don't go, Captain
Curtis. Father, ask his pardon."
The old man turned towards her. "Go to your room. I will see that this
young squirt finds the door!"
Elsie shrank from the glare of his eyes. "Father, you are brutal! You
hurt me."
"Do as I say!" he snarled.
"I will _not_!" She faced him, tall and resolute. "I am not a child. I
am the mistress of this house." She turned and walked towards the door.
"Captain Curtis, I beg _your_ pardon; my father has forgotten himself."
Brisbane took a step towards Curtis. "Get out! And you, girl, leave the
room."
The girl's face whitened. "Have you no sense of decency?" she said, and
her voice cut deep down into his heart and he flinched. "Captain Curtis
is my guest as well as yours." She extended her hand. "Please go! It is
best."
"It is the most miserable moment of my life," he replied, as they moved
down the hall, leaving Brisbane at the door of the study. "I will do any
honorable thing to regain your good-will."
"You have not lost it," she replied. "I cannot blame you--as I should,"
she added, and the look on her face mystified him.
"May I see you again before I leave for the West?"
"Perhaps," she softly replied. "Remember he is old--and--"
"I will try not to bear anger," he replied.
And as he turned away it seemed that she had leagued herself with him
against her own father, and this feeling deepened as she ran up the
stairs heedless of the voice whose commands had hitherto been law to
her.
The young officer walked down the sunny avenue towards the White House
with a curious feeling of having just passed through a bitter and
degrading dream. He was numb and cold. Around him the little negro
newsboys were calling the one-o'clock editions of the "_Styah_," and the
pavements were swarming with public servants hastening to lunch,
punctual as clocks, while he, having been ordered from the house of his
host, was mechanically returning to his club.
There was something piercingly pathetic in the thought of the good cheer
he had anticipated, and the lost pleasure of sitting opposite Elsie
made his heart ache. At the moment his feet stumbled in the path of
duty. Surely he was a long way from the single-minded map-builder who
had crossed the Sulphur Spring Divide.